


Separate lives

by BarkingBard



Category: Call Me By Your Name (2017), Call Me By Your Name (2017) RPF, Call Me By Your Name - All Media Types, Call Me by Your Name - André Aciman
Genre: Book Launch, Boredom, Cat and Mouse Games, Gaming, Gyms, Kinbaku, Lifting Weights, M/M, Motorcycles, New York City, Original Broadway Cast, S&M poetry, Shibari, Slow Burn, nawa ato, world at war
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-08
Updated: 2020-08-15
Packaged: 2021-03-01 16:35:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 14,714
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23540176
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BarkingBard/pseuds/BarkingBard
Summary: “Armie Hammerwill return to Broadway this season as part of the ensemble cast for Tommy Stephan's new play, ‘Child, I said… Please!’. Hammer will star alongsideTimothée Chalametas Billy, who shines among this exceptional cast of actors in this gorgeous play which abounds with intimate beauty, truth and razor-sharp wit.” – PlaybillThe reality of life behind the glamour of a Broadway show; Armie was bored and lonely and Timmy couldn’t stand the ‘all too perfect’ East-Coast co-star.Please note: This is fiction, I do not know these people or the reality of their lives.
Relationships: Timothée Chalamet/Armie Hammer
Comments: 105
Kudos: 116





	1. Incognito

**Author's Note:**

  * For [TimIDinMyHeart](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TimIDinMyHeart/gifts).



Armie had been in New York for almost a month, rehearsing the play that would hopefully change the course of his career. He needed to freshen up his image and move the popular opinion away from the impression that he was an oversized ‘Ken doll,’ and towards an image of a serious actor with emotional depth, skills and be able to take on bigger, more challenging roles.

The rest of the cast were all very talented, erstwhile and deadly serious bunch of professionals, who had no time in their busy lives to ‘babysit’ the lonely Californian. His co-lead, Timothée Chalamet, was the usual uptight New York theatre kid, who had done more work by the age of 12 than Armie had by 25. Timmy, as he preferred his coworkers to call him, would slouch further into his oversized hoodie every time Armie spoke and even rolled his eyes at him when he asked him to go out for an ‘after work’ drink.

Nothing he said could make this kid warm to him or at least drop his open hostility. On stage was a completely different matter, as his character Billy, he was playful, tactile and friendly. Armie wished the two opposing personas would mingle a little more. But as they say, ‘If wishes were fishes, we’d all swim in riches.’

For his last free weekend before the ‘preview season’, Armie called in a favor to his close friend and confidant, Tyler Ramsey. After a call made up of mostly whining and almost irresistible begging, Tyler had agreed to come. The call went something along the lines of, “Tyler, I’m bored…. Come to New York… Entertain me… I will pay for everything… you just need to bring your drinking shoes.”

Tyler knew Armie had to be desperate to call him and he also knew what this sort of call from Armie would entail. The sort of debauched escapade that he would be sworn to secrecy about, for the rest of his life. Tyler had introduced Armie to his wife Elizabeth, but he knew that, whatever expired this weekend, not another word about it would ever be spoken of again. The Saudi Arabian ‘Beast Festival’ trip was a prime example of one of these mute subjects.

Armie would sometimes get himself worked up about things and he needed to release that energy to move on. Sometimes Armie needed his oldest and most faithful friend Nick Di Santi, colloquially known as Nikki Wonder. But there were other itches that needed scratching and Nikki wouldn’t approve of this sort of adventure and that was when he called on Tyler.

They both had a passion for art, literature, cultural pursuits and ‘Kinbaku’ (Japanese for ‘tie securely’). Armie wanted to get buzzed and witness a good ‘Shibari’ (to tie) and hopefully not be photographed or witnessed doing it. The paparazzi were always on his heels, so they had to be extremely careful. Tyler would always go in first and scout out the area while Armie would skulk outside, with his hat pulled down low and collar up, and wait until it was safe.

Dinner had been a grand affair at a swanky restaurant with dozens of courses from the degustation menu, elegantly displayed on exquisite, handmade plates and bowls and consumed with excellent wine. The whole experience was magnified by regular puffs of a joint between each course.

***

The buzzing pair walked in through a nondescript door and ascended a narrow staircase. Once they reached the landing they were greeted by a masked woman who was beautifully dressed in a silk suit. When asked for the name on their reservation, they both replied confidently, “Ramsey”.

She opened an invisible door and ushered them into another room that looked more like a cloakroom. On the walls hung dozens of masks of an almost unimaginable range, from wooden to feather, ornate to plain.

Armie picked up a heavy, leather, ‘Commedia dell'Arte’ style of Italian mask. The Arlecchino's (the harlequin) mask had a large puggish nose, numerous bumps on its forehead and little devilish horns. Armie had read about the character in high school; a foolish, simple minded person who was perpetually hungry and he thought it would suit him well.

A woman appeared from the gloom to take their jackets. “The rules are: one thing on, one thing off”, she stated to them, “your mask counts as one, so you have to remove something.” When she gave him a flirty wink, Armie automatically began to undo the buttons on his shirt and proceeded to hand it over.

Tyler took longer to choose his mask and kept reviewing his reflection in the mirror. In fact, it took so long that Armie became bored and began to goad him to hurry up. Finally, he settled on a colourful cacophony of feathers that obscured most of this face. He untied his shoes and handed them over to the girl. “Two for one!” he said lightly and chuckled at his wit while the woman looked back with disdain.

The room was massive and dimly lit, with a ring of low wattage downlights illuminating and bouncing light off of enormous slabs of marble. It was a sleek and austere modern interior; yet so simple and elegant that you could tell everything was really expensive. The surfaces gleamed and shone in the lowlight. When they entered the room there were about fifty people scattered about in various groupings and in various stages of undress.

The tables for patrons gravitated around a large, white leather Barcelona daybed in the middle of the room that glowed beneath the pin light spots that were set on it.

The boys stumbled up to the bar where a large, passionless man asked what they would require and Armie asked to set up a tab. After two tequila shots, they sat down at a table with two top-shelf whiskies that neither of them had heard of and a beer chaser.

Their banter became livelier when the shots took effect and it wasn’t long before various members of the audience were watching them joke around. Their conversation came to an abrupt halt when the lights dimmed further and a spotlight struck a small figure of an older Japanese woman in an ornate kimono and a naked young man. The boy’s face was covered by a traditional Japanese ‘tenugui’ (fabric blindfold) and that his hands were simply tied in a course red rope. Armie commented to Tyler, “Tejou shibari” (handcuff tie).

Armie enjoyed knowing a variety of Japanese words for the knots, positions and poses. It made him feel more attuned to the process of tying and he wished that he had some rope so he could practice imitating the knots the master was tying.

For effect she led the boy around the room, bowing politely to each group, and presented the boy, showing off the beauty of his form.

Armie and Tyler took a good look at the boy when she arrived at their table. Armie reached out to touch his smooth body and he received a quick and sharp slap from the ‘Standing end’ of the rope she was holding. “Naughty… naughty man. He no yours to touch. He mine, not yours. All your golden face cannot buy my toy,” she scolded him.

The boy was long-limbed and had a delicate frame. His skin was the finest alabaster and so pale that it almost appeared blue and made of stone. His body had been shaved of all hair except for a small triangle of auburn in his pubic region, which deliciously framed his shapely cock and balls. Armie’s own cock bounced with excitement as he watched the woman lay the boy on the sofa and begin her work.

An assistant appeared into the spotlight, she was a younger masked woman, dressed in a loose-fitting black gown. On her arms were several long pieces of the same rough, red rope and she proceeded to hand them over as they became required.

The show began with a small bow to the boy and then the rope began to loop and spin around him.

The room was filled with breathless silence and the tension was only broken with the sound of little grunts as the ‘Shokunin’ (skilled rope master) worked her craft with incredible speed and agility.

Armie was captivated by the spider-like woman who was spinning a cocoon for the naked boy. She was a true expert with rope and with dexterity each knot was placed precisely. His physical excitement built as the binding of the boy took shape.

Armie periodically nudged Tyler as the woman worked in order to compliment the skillful way she had tied this knot or how she had used the natural twist inherent in the rope to join the ropes without knotting them. Armie was in raptured awe.

After forty minutes of intense concentration she took the last of the ropes to hitch off the ‘Shikominawa’ (anchor rope) that would suspend the boy high above the crowd. Armie was sure that the woman had created a beautiful position named ‘Hikyaku zuri’ (The running postman), which he whispered to Tyler.

The elegance of Japanese ‘Shibari’ (Tying) was the asymmetrical structure of the positions of the limbs and the elegance of the rope patterns over the body, as well as the shadow play that the body made as it twisted in the air.

When the two women heaved on the rope it took almost all their strength to suspend the boy. Armie realized his own error in his assumption of what pose she had created as the body twisted up off the sofa and began to rise instead of on its back but on its side and horizontally to the floor.

All the intricacy of the knot work was on display on either side of his body as he rose higher and higher into the air. The pin spotlights followed his ascent and Armie’s mind was left in breathless awe as the shadow on the floor revealed that the boy had been suspended in the ‘Washi zuri’ (The Eagle). The boy’s legs were tied separately and each was radiating from his body to become the eagle’s wings, while his genitals cast the shadow of the bird’s head and beak, his arms wrapped around his head to complete the tail and balance the rest of the shadow.

Armie nearly knocked over the heavy marble table as he shot to his feet and began to applaud the ‘Shkunin’ for her mastery and mental agility to create a form on the ground that wouldn’t show itself until it was suspended, turned on its side and spotlighted from a completely different angle. This was a thing of true beauty.

After a few seconds, Armie realized that he was the only one enthusiastically applauding and he sank back down into his seat with a crimson blush of embarrassment spreading down his neck and across his chest. Tyler erupted in hysterical laughter. It was then that Armie’s embarrassment turned into pure anger. “Drink up dick head, we are leaving!” Armie spat at him, his evening ruined by his own exuberance. He will be even more annoyed at himself in the morning when he realizes that he has missed the chance to speak to this talented artist.

***

On Monday morning he was sitting backstage with the makeup artist applying a layer of theatrical make-up more heavily than he would like, as his co-star Timothée wandered into the room and sat in the chair adjacent to his.

“Hey little buddy, how was your weekend?” Armie enquired in the softest and friendliest tone he could muster on a Monday morning. “Did you go to some super-cool club and watch a kicking rap battle?” As the words rolled out of his mouth, he realized just how lame and old he sounded. _God, he was such a dick._

“Yeah, something like that,” Timmy sighed.

Under the bright make-up lights, Armie noticed just how rough Timothée looked. His bags looked more like suitcases and his skin was pasty; he would need an extra thick layer of makeup to make him look vaguely human.

His makeup artist asked him to remove his usual, sloppy hoodie and Armie turned to continue his friendly banter with the boy, just as his shirt hitched up to show his thin torso. The pale smooth skin showed rows of evenly spaced lines of purple bruises that continued along his arms and, Armie guessed, his legs. In his shock at seeing Timmy’s body covered in very expertly tied rope marks, the words slip out of his mouth before he had a chance to stop it, “That’s ‘nawa ato’!” (Rope marks)

“No, it is not. I don’t have rope burn” Timothée blurted out suddenly.

The two of them sat and stared at each other in shock and awe. The silence between them hung in the air like a boy tied in a manner which would cast the shadow of a ‘spiraling eagle’ between them.


	2. MOTO-HJ

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The show had been running for about a week and Timothée finally had a morning to himself. He needed to get away and clear his head because he was hanging onto too much nervous energy and he knew he was likely to do something stupid if he didn’t.
> 
> Please Note: I don't know these people nor what they are likely to do out in the world. Just enjoy the journey.

Timothée was overjoyed to be back ‘treading the boards’ again. Of course it was because of his films that Timothée’s career had taken off; he was now being recognized on the street, his number of Instagram followers, now at 8 million, had more than doubled in the past six months, and he had earned the perk of ‘free clothes’ from brands that he couldn’t afford to wear otherwise. But for all the excitement and financial rewards that being in films provided, the everyday reality was rather dull. It lacked the comradery and the immediate gratification and buzz that you get from a live performance.

He had been excited by the prospect of working with the director, Tommy Stephan, who was a total sweetheart and loved New York almost as much as he did. He also found the rest of the cast and crew to be great until he met his co-star, Armie ‘Fucking’ Hammer.

But the reality of meeting his co-star was worse than he had ever imagined. This 6’5” mountain of glacial blue eyes, Hollywood charm and elegant grace was too much for him. Timothée was totally threatened by his exuberant energy and the way he confidently barged into the rehearsal space, straight from the airport; all perfect hair, perfect teeth and perfect tan, bubbling with ‘so excited to meet y’all’ and how he had to ‘rush over from JFK to say hello’!

When Armie shoved a dinner plate size hand at Timothée, he froze. He just stood and stared at it. He was incapable of moving and Armie’s perfect smile faltered for just a moment before he moved on to the next person. Timothée watched him ‘work the room’. He was good at it; he patted backs, he shook hands and if there were any around, he would have kissed babies. He should have been a politician, not an actor.

But Timothée couldn’t take his eyes off of Armie. He had never seen anyone that fucking beautiful in his life. His features were striking, in a traffic-stopping kind of way; his physical presence was majestic and Timothée had no option but to vow, for his own sanity, to keep his distance as best he could. Like a sulky teenager, he would slouch into himself whenever Armie spoke, to hide any actual expression because any second now he would fall for that man and never get back up. It was exhausting to be around him.

***

The show had been running for about a week and Timothée finally had a morning to himself. He got on his head-turning, ‘Candy Steel Furnace Orange’-colored Kawasaki Ninja 650 motorcycle and rode out of the city. He had chosen the bike and the color because it made him feel like he could be the new orange-colored Power Ranger.

He needed to get away and clear his head because he was hanging onto too much nervous energy and he knew he was likely to do something stupid if he didn’t, so with the mild weather, a ride out of the city was a perfect way to spend his day.

He wove through the city traffic, then over a couple of bridges out of Manhattan to the more spacious suburbs. By this point he could focus on the visceral sensations of the journey, not simply on trying to stay upright or avoiding the numerous obstacles. The throbbing machine between his legs and the torque of the 650CC engine made it feel like he was hanging onto a wild animal and it gave him a feeling of freedom, something he really needed at the moment.

Timothée was stopped at a traffic light, his engine purring softly beneath him, when he heard a motorcycle coming up behind him. The large, vintage Harley Davidson was really loud and on it sat an even bigger guy, with an expensive, brand-new helmet and face-obscuring tinted visor. In contrast, the guy’s leather pants were worn, obviously second-hand and definitely didn’t fit him properly, but he was in mighty fine shape, so was able to pull it off.

They nodded as a form of greeting and when the light changed, the guy took off as fast as he could on the heavy beast. The Kawasaki was lighter, faster and maneuvered so much more effectively, so Timothée caught him easily. For several miles the two played cat and mouse, weaving through traffic to cut each other off or just using the different capabilities of the two bikes to overtake or outrun the other. It was so much fun to play with this guy, not to mention that Timothée had a fine view of the guy’s body as his clothes drifted in the wind. He was broad and his arms were deceptively large; his long, angular body tapered in a good way towards his very impressive leather-clad ass.

The vibration of the motor ran through Timmy’s body and his prostate responded. He needed to pee as well, so with that added pressure his cock was almost fully hard as he watched the guy move through the traffic. He wasn’t concerned about what he was showing, as his crouched riding position covered most of his budge. And to be honest, he didn’t care if anyone noticed because they wouldn’t recognize him as the ‘rising star’ Timothée Chalamet.

Each time they stopped at a traffic light, Timmy would egg the other rider on, and then they would begin the chase again. They had been flirting and fluttering around each other for about half an hour and then suddenly the guy wasn’t there on the road with him.

Pulling over to the shoulder, Timothée shut off his engine and listened. The unmistakable chug of the Harley-Davidson could be heard a couple of streets away and Timmy excitedly turned his machine around and followed.

The big guy was standing at the pump of a gas station, filling his thirsty beast. When he saw Timothée he half-waved and Timmy took that as a positive invitation, so he rode in and parked next to the guy and turned off his bike. The man went in to pay, so Timothée decided to relieve his bladder. As he walked across the lot, his riding companion watched him and then followed him to the bathroom.

Timmy was relieving himself when the guy walked in and leaned against the mucky sink. He just stood there watching him piss and when Timothée turned and started to zip up his fly, the guy reached over and stopped his hand, using his strength and weight against the smaller man. Timothée found himself pinned to the grimy bathroom wall and for a second his breath faltered in is chest.

Had he misread the situation and was he in some serious trouble here? This guy was so much bigger than he was and could do whatever he wanted to do; there was nothing Timmy could do to stop him. Could anyone hear him scream from here?

The big guy’s helmet bumped aggressively against Timothée’s visor as he began to jerk at Timmy’s prick. His large hand was smoother than expected and had a spattering of hair running down to its knuckles. This obviously wasn’t his first rodeo, he knew exactly what he was doing. Timmy’s adrenalin rush pumped the blood around his body so fast; he could hear his cock inflate in his ears and he knew it wouldn’t be long before this guy would be getting covered with his cum.

Instinctively, Timothée’s hands moved to the guy’s groin and unbuckled his belt. His pants were so loose that, when Timmy released the top button, they fell down to expose his downy thighs. Timmy was captivated by hair surrounding this guy’s majestic and heavy-set cock. The ashen pubes sparkled in the light. _Oh, this guy was a blonde. Hot!_

Timothée had never been this hard in his life and that, combined with the excitement of the possibility of someone walking in at any moment and the expert way the stranger was handling his cock, guaranteed that the climax of this tryst wasn’t far off. Timothée began to thrust into the hand and the increased force had the desired result. A long spurt of spunk shot out of him, narrowly missing both their leather pants and landing in a glistening rope across the guys left boot.

Impatiently the other man pulled himself out of Timmy’s grasp and took control, furiously thrashing his meaty cock, while he placed his free hand squarely on Timothée’s shoulder and leaned his head forward, effectively pinning him to the wall. The sound of the man’s grunts and the noisy impact of the two helmets against each other filled the room.

Timmy was completely at this guy’s mercy as he watched him driving himself towards climax. Placing one hand on his full, hairy balls, Timothée gave them a firm tug every so often and in the smeared bathroom mirror, he watched his free hand slide down the man’s glorious rump. The pulsating muscles of his ass flexed in time with his wanking motions, each movement punishing his dripping cock a little more. When he reached the man’s crease Timothée sought the tight pucker and forcefully slipped a single digit in. The man stopped his stroking and let out a hiss because of the sting he felt from his tight ring being breached, but it wasn’t long before he started thrashing again.

The added pressure from the finger was enough to see him release volley after volley of juice from his balls over the grimy tiled wall, evidence of his pent-up tension and the need to get it out.

He finally released Timothée from his grasp as he drew his breath and Timothée took the chance and made a break for it, bolting across the parking lot and back onto the road before anyone one could question him. His ride back to the city felt so much quicker though he traced the same path he had taken only an hour previous.

His mind was swimming with visions of his hot faceless fist fuck, which he would later describe as very nearly one of the best hand jobs of his life. Timmy knew he would beat off to it for years to come. He loved everything about it; no witnesses, no small talk, no awkwardness afterwards, no evidence and, therefore, no ramifications for his career. This HJ was between him and some guy he would never meet again, and it was so perfect and so very hot.

***

He finally felt in control and ready to face the world and Armie ‘Fucking’ Hammer again. After a quick shower he was back at the theatre. He was in the chair, getting makeup done, and his co-star was absent. Fifteen minutes turned into thirty minutes and the understudy was called and due to arrive any minute. This would mean a lot more work for Timothée to carry the main characters through the play, but what could he do? Armie wasn’t here.

***

To Timmy’s surprise, a very anxious and out-of-breath Armie Hammer arrived and slumped down next to him in the green room. He was talking at speed and obviously very agitated at being late, explaining, “I went out for a ride and got lost in ‘bum-fuck’ New York. By the time I realized my error, it was almost too late.” He unzipped the enormous motorcycle boots he was wearing and slammed them down on the table in front of Timothée.

Armie continued to speak, but Timothée didn’t hear a single word as his mind began to drift to the surface of his co-star’s boots. He caught sight of the mixture of road grime and dust and a very distinctive line of dried spunk across the left boot - to be more specific, the very same line of spunk Timothée had released from his extra-hard cock only a few hours ago.

As the ramifications of what had transpired in that bathroom actually hit him, Timothée’s mouth sagged open and he began to hear Armie speak again.

“Oh shit, sorry man,’ lifting the dusty boots off of the furniture, “I’m sure there’s some sort of theatre tradition where you don’t put your shoes on the table, or something. We are all now cursed to die a painful death. Am I going to have to pay some penance or something?” Armie asked earnestly.

“Don’t worry about it, it’s all good,” Timothée replied in a tone that was more relaxed than he was actually feeling. He looked deeply into the other man’s eyes and realized that he really shouldn’t judge a book by its cover. He also realized that if he continued to look this way into those eyes he would be lost in them. He turned his head away and instantly wondered how sore Armie’s gorgeous cock was after the punishing he’d subjected it to today.


	3. World at War

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> By the time Armie logged into ‘World at War’ he was buzzing in more ways than one, taking one last puff on the balcony as the usual opening credit rolled.
> 
> _‘Fight the good fight. You and your buddies can save the world. Only you can win… **World at War!’**_
> 
>   
> Please Note: No Timmys or Armies were injured in the making of this chapter. 

The play tonight was possibly the best Armie and Timmy had performed it. Timmy had become so relaxed with his character, more tactile and engaging, that it affected Armie’s performance as well, and their interactions were electric. The energy ratcheted up and up as they played out the story under the stage lights, culminating with the ‘great kiss scene’, which came as a welcome release for them, both personally and literally. The kiss went on for a little longer than was scripted, encouraged by the reaction from the audience, who loved every second, hollering and wolf-whistling for more.

The way Timmy wrapped himself around Armie’s body had shocked and titillated him more than he had expected. Later that night, relaxing in his rather impersonal and lonely serviced apartment, Armie chuckled at the memory of Timmy’s lathe body entwined around him.

_If Timmy keeps this sort of thing up, he should do the decent thing and invite him to go out for dinner or something._

***

By the time Armie logged into ‘World at War’ he was buzzing in more ways than one, taking one last puff on the balcony as the usual opening credit rolled.

_‘Fight the good fight. You and your buddies can save the world. Only you can win… **World at War!** ’_

Armie used the game to unwind after a stressful day, whether at home with the kids, on-set or, in this case, after a great show. There was nothing better than the soothing feeling of total immersion in the realistic, first-person shooter game to release all of your daily tensions.

The aim was to complete a specified daily mission while collecting a band of real people/players (in the same army of course) to assist you to get the task done. He liked the realistic conversations through the headset, the grimy and historically accurate environments, and the way the game was programed. If your character was injured you lost that body part and the ability to use it for the rest of that game, rather than just losing life points. He also found this aspect the worst part of the game. If you injured your shooting arm or dominant side, you then had to continue with only your non-dominant side functioning.

Mind you, Armie usually died pretty soon after that sort of injury and would sit, swearing at the screen, waiting in purgatory for the 15 minute ‘shut-out’ time to lapse. To Armie, who was not gifted with a surplus of patience, these time blocks were seemingly the longest and most verbally abusive quarter-hours of his life.

That was the case until he and Elizabeth started the long and frustrating process of legal separation. The 15-minute meetings with his soon-to-be ex-wife’s fuckin’ lawyers, negotiating who gets the cookware or the lawn mower, now made the “World at War” shut-out periods seem easy. Fortunately, during the video game he could restart the mission and get everything going again as if nothing had happened. Sadly, he couldn’t do the same for his marriage.

***

Today’s mission, he was informed, was to eliminate an SS-Standartenführer, who had recently commandeered Montluçon's picturesque town hall, in Central France. If he succeeded, he would save the lives of 650 French townsfolk from imminent massacre by Nazis.

His persona in the game was _‘Arms-86_ ’ and his avatar was based on his actual appearance: blonde hair, cropped short in military fashion, sharp blue eyes and a strong build. The main difference was that the avatar was 5” shorter, so that he wouldn’t have as much body to drag around in the game. His preferred weapon was his trusty ‘M1 Thompson Submachine Gun’, affectionately known as a ‘Tommy Gun’. It was heavy, but it shot up the place like a motherfucker when you let it have its way.

 _‘Arms-86’_ was not some green recruit; he was a seasoned player of over 80 missions and a consummate digital warrior. The rag-tag band of teenagers and middle-aged men that he usually found playing the game created a cacophony of noise and random banter in his headset as he parachuted into the battlefield. He had been able to review the landscape and the narrow streets of the town as he drifted to the ground and had a fair idea where they would find their collective goal, the town hall. He rolled his parachute and set about slapping the team of US troops into shape and leading them to win this thing.

***

 **Arms-86 >** Who, like me, wants to kill some Nazis?

There was a resounding roar from the 20 other players.

 **Arms86 >** Let’s do this!!

The joint that Armie had just finished had slowed his mind a little and he was ready for total, immersive battle play. _‘Arms-86’_ was the ranking officer and the troops fell in behind him and followed his commands pretty easily as he charged off across the field. When they reached a small coppice of trees he could see their first challenge. The Nazi troops were busily digging trenches, machine gun nests, and other battlements to defend the newly captured town; however, the _‘Arms-86’_ team had arrived earlier than expected and their enemy was woefully under-prepared. He felt confident that they could get through without much damage to the number in his band of soldiers.

With just a couple of rounds they cleared the edge of town and entered the town proper. Next to him, a kid was being screamed at by his dad for being up so late and then he promptly disappeared. _Ha, the poor sucker. Worse than being taken out by Nazis._

The street battles were intense, and he lost over half of the team, with one even crying for his mother as he went down. He snorted out a laugh.

The remaining eight players, comprised of a couple of hard-talking girls, one of whom sounded Irish, a few ‘daddy heroes’ and the remainder, men of an undetermined age, were a more mature group. This meant that they could progress quickly and boldly through the town. _‘Arms-86’_ fired his gun every thirty seconds or so as they cleared the way towards their goal.

He was keeping his eye on _‘Hal-2001’,_ a very clever and creative fighter who often used his knife instead of his gun, so as not to draw attention and enemy fire towards himself or the rest of the group as they spread out along the war-ravaged streets.

 _‘Arms-86’_ hid behind a rolled over truck. When he stuck his head out to scope out the scene ahead and a bullet noisily whizzed past him, he saw a sniper on the roof top. “Kiss my ass mother-fucker!” _‘Arms-86’_ screamed into his mouthpiece, as he burst out of his hiding place and let the guy have a full round of his Tommy Gun. The sight of the sniper hitting the ground was a little too realistic for this time of the morning and he automatically turned his head away.

He caught sight of _‘Hal-2001’_ as he leapt on a guy, slit his throat and then proceed to collect his weapons, using his victim’s body as cover. ‘Arms’ thought to himself, this guy’s skills were totally wasted in this mission. This task was a “throw as many troops as you could” at the ‘Town Hall’ until you won through sheer numbers. No stealth or real skill needed.

 _‘Hal-2001’_ was the sort of sly solo warrior who could silently clear a town of Nazis, all under the cover of darkness, with everyone remaining unaware until they ‘woke up’ dead the following morning. He was a really good player, possibly better than ‘Arms-86’.

 _‘Arms-86’_ was a sound and experienced player, but his main tactic was to use brute force and self-destructive suicide missions that would scare the hell out of the enemy player and allow him to win more battles than he lost.

***

The next corner brought them face to face with a tank that was set up to defend the ‘town hall’. It could blast the fuck out of all of them in one go, so it had to be eliminated quickly.

Around him were ‘Will-Mx’ and ‘Sir-Shaw’, along with ‘Hal-2001’ (seriously some of these names these kids come up with).

 **Arms-86 >** _“Who’s got a couple of grenades handy to take that thing out with?”_

 _‘Hal-2001’_ signaled a thumbs-up, so _‘Arms-86’_ burst out of his hiding place and let a couple of rounds ping off of the hard, outer armor of the tank. His aim was to get the tank’s attention in order to give _‘Hal-2001’_ a chance to lob the grenade in.

A resounding boom echoed in his ears as he scurried into an archway, missing most of the blast from the tank’s 77mm gun that was aimed for him.

 **Arms-86 >** Hal, how are you doing? Are you close to detonation?

 **Hal-2001 >** I’m sorry Dave, I’m afraid I can’t do that.

A huge grin spread across Armie’s face. The kid was a movie buff and all along Armie had thought that the ‘2001’ referred to the kid’s year of birth. He must be older than Armie had thought and he couldn’t more perfect if he tried. He was clever, creative, and sassy. _Fuck, I really must tone down on this grass. I’m getting soppy over an avatar._

Looking down the street he saw the guy crouching behind a partially demolished wall and _‘Arms-86’_ could see that there were two enemies firing down at him. In a quick move _‘Arms-86’_ dashed across the street to eliminate the first one with his Tommy Gun. Then, using the tank as a shield, he was able see the other one and took him out. _‘Hal-2001’_ was up and moving quickly.

 **Hal-2001 >** Thanks Arms, not bad for an old man. I didn’t think they let people your age into the Army… but desperate times and all that.

 **Arms-86 >** How about less of the ‘old’ bullshit and do ya fuckin’ job, dickwad.

A large group of enemy soldiers began to barrel down the street towards them, so _‘Arms-86’_ took cover again. _‘Hal-2001’_ waved to him and rolled a grenade over. Armie knew what he had to do.

With surprising speed and accuracy, _‘Arms-86’_ leapt up on the side of the tank and inserted the armed device in an opening in the turret. With seconds to spare, he bolted at full speed back down the street to avoid being injured, unlike the troops that were charging towards the explosion.

An almighty explosion deafened him for a second as the shock wave threw his avatar across the road. _‘Sir-Shaw’_ stepped out into the smoke-filled street, opened fire on the enemy, and charged forward. _‘Arms-86’_ turned and began to do the same. It was chaos, with whizzing bullets, grey smoke, and wounded screams all around them.

He saw _‘Hal-2001’_ slip quickly through the front door of the town hall and he knew he had to get there and back him up.

 _‘Will-Mx’_ was stationed in the back corner of the square, firing at anything that moved on any of the side streets, so _‘Arms-86’_ and _‘Sir-Shaw’_ took turns in clearing rooms heading towards the upper story of the building. As he reached the top of the stairs _‘Arms-86’_ ran out of luck and his legs dropped out from under him. Rolling over he saw the bastard who had shot him, fired a few too many rounds in his direction, and eliminated him quickly.

Huge, red, bloody letters appeared on the screen announcing, _ **‘Mission accomplished’**_.

_Fuck that kid was fast._

The scene cut to a gory, blood-spattered room with the four surviving soldiers of the group standing opposite each other in the kill zone. Each was awarded points for the accomplishments during the mission, with 20,000 each for _‘Will-Max’, ‘Sir-Shaw’_ , and _‘Arms-86’_. _‘Hal-2001’_ had a golden halo saying ‘Champion’ with 50,000 points and the words ‘Promotion to Sargent Hal-2001’ flashed up.

 **Will-Mx >** Fucking hell man, that was insane. How did you get here so quickly? And now it’s Sargent Timmy-Tee!

 **Hal-2001 >** Thanks man, I didn‘t do it alone.

 **Sir-Shaw >** Pony, you are meant to let other players have a chance too, you know. And… and now I am choking up. Look at our little boy, all grown up to Sargent… You little shit!

 **Hal-2001 >** Sersh, don’t be jealous, just try a little harder next time. Girls can win too… you know!

 **Sir-Shaw >** You are so fuckin’ lucky that you are on the other side of the country because I would kick that pasty white arse of yours from here to Dublin.

Armie couldn’t believe his ears. Here he was, listening in on his frosty co-star and two of his friends inside the game.

 **Arms-86 >** First-class job, Timmy. We should go out for that beer that you always refuse and celebrate after the show tomorrow.

 **Hal-2001 >** Wait… shit.. no. You can’t be serious! Arms-86, as in THE Armie ‘Fucking’ Hammer? Wow… Ok… Sersh and Will meet my co-star Armie.

 **Will-Mx >** Hey there, Armie. You are slaying in that play.

 **Arms-86 >** Sersh, as in Saoirse Ronan, your films are epic.

 **Sir-Shaw >** Ahhh.. Hello Armie ‘Fucking’ Hammer, its lovely to meet ya. By the way, Timmy says you are really intimidating to work with.

 **Hal-2001 >** Shut up, Sersh! Don’t be a dick.

 **Arms-86 >** Hey Tim, how about less of my ‘fucking’ middle name and more of ‘Yes, I will have that beer with you.’

 **Will-Mx >** I don’t think you can argue with him after he saved your ass back there.

 **Hal-2001 >** Why is everyone talking about my ass?

Armie thinks to himself, _I like your ass Timmy and I am happy to continue talking about it._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this chapter may not be to everyone's tastes but its quite a significant connection between them that both Timmy and Armie are gamers. Timmy recently had a huge win in World of Warcraft (WOW), which I am sure you all know about and his friends are still rabbiting on about it.
> 
> Interestingly, the fabulous RuPaul Charles gave Saoirse Ronan the nickname of ‘Sir Shaw’. I couldn't resist using it, and you are welcome.
> 
> Other than that... I hope you enjoyed it. My story are is slightly changing as the characters are dragging me (screaming and kicking) in different directions and this thing that was intended to be a '4-chapter' short bit of fun, will now be a little longer. Sorry, not sorry.


	4. Ode to Abandon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Timothée was running late, very late. As he scanned the room for the imposing figure of Armie, he was shocked and slightly annoyed to notice that the stupidly tall, blonde man wasn’t there.

Timothée careered through the Georgian portico that faced the road in front of St. Mark’s-in-the-Bowery. The grey stone facade was charming, but Timmy didn’t have time to linger on it. He was running late, very late. He stepped into a small anteroom and, while waiting to have his invite checked, he caught his breath.

His problems started with not knowing what to wear. It wasn’t really a date with Armie, it was a book launch. He wasn’t hosting the event, nor was he likely to be ‘papped’, but it was a public event, so he still had to be on his guard. Timothée had to dress well in case someone recognized him and snapped a few shots or asked to do selfies. He found it all very exhausting and he hated almost everything he owned by the time he left the house.

He had settled on a warm, but sleek, charcoal cashmere sweater and baggy black jeans, but he knew he was already late, so he threw on his leather jacket and sprinted to the subway. Unsurprisingly, the Q train was also running late and by the time he arrived in the large chapel, people were starting to move into their seats.

Scanning the room for the imposing figure of Armie, he was shocked and slightly annoyed to notice that the stupidly tall, blonde man wasn’t one of the 150 people milling around and chatting loudly. Timothée accepted a glass of wine from one of the waiters and stepped back to take in the spacious room. The chapel’s rather plain interior was punctuated by round, steel columns that supported a sheltering ring of balconies on three sides of the space.

Timothée had not been in this church since an outing during high school and he was transported back to the tales of cultural revolutionaries and great poets, musicians, and dancers who had performed here. This place had been central to this community for supporting cultural pursuits and promoting the arts to the East Village since its inception a couple of hundred years prior. The building had an aura of profound sanctity that inspired reverence in him. He could all most hear Ginsburg’s or Ono’s voices mingling with the hubbub of the present assembled crowd.

As the lights dimmed the audience began to take their seats that radiated out from a lectern that stood towards the altar end of the chapel. Timothée sat close to an end of an aisle in an attempt to save a seat for his so-called ‘date’ when he finally arrived. He was wondering where Armie was when his thoughts were halted as a spotlight hit Armie ‘Fucking’ Hammer. Who confidently strode out of a small door, dressed in a resplendent, maroon velvet tuxedo, his hair roughly brushed off of his face and his smile lit the room as the star of stage and film took his place and began to address the room.

“Good evening. It is with great pleasure that I am able to welcome you to St. Marks-in-the-Bowery to celebrate the release of Nigella Griffin’s first book of poetry.” Armie was interrupted and paused for a spattering of applause that fluttered around the room, “Yes, Please,” he encouraged the audience and joined in clapping along in a slow and relaxed manner.

As the room quieted again, he continued, “Book launches require thanks and first of all I would like to thank Karen and Joan from the poetry arm of Penguin Books for allowing me to be up here this evening. Nigella couldn’t make it due to a family drama that could have fallen straight out of her own poems. She called me from the rolling hills of the Yorkshire downs, insisting that I become the ambassador of her works, which of course I am delighted to do. Thank you darling one for bestowing such a great honor on me.”

“I had the pleasure of meeting Nigella Griffin in a club a few years ago and was instantly bewitched by her. I will be the first to admit that I was intimidated, after following her career for years through reading her works in many flagship publications such as The New Yorker, the London Review of Books and Fetishist’s Monthly.”

Her confident and precise works seem to erupt or flow out of this hyper-intelligent and strong-willed woman, but don’t let her softly spoken accent lull you into a false sense of security. She is ruthlessly lethal with every one of her expressions. In spite of her powerful and dominant presence wherever she goes, she is also a kind, caring and compassionate person. She was one of the first people to hold our, then new, puppy ‘Archie’, and refused to put him down for hours, while talking the whole time about his ‘puppy breath’,” the crowd erupted again.

“It’s true, really it’s true,” Armie insisted, to emphasize his point. His comic timing was perfect, as the twittering of laughter continued from the audience. Timothée smiled to himself as he watched Armie enslave the assembly with his obvious and relaxed charms.

As if breaking from his own spell, Armie began again, “I thought you would like to hear some of this amazing woman’s astonishing words”. The crowded responded in the affirmative and Armie began to read.

“ ** _Ode to Abandon_** ,” Armie read confidently and paused for effect.

He began reading each first line he spoke quickly and then slowing to emphasize the key words of the second. He expressed the words precisely, which built with each couplet to produce a natural rhythm.

_“Taut the coarse bind,  
_ _threads twisting between us._

_Cold alabaster marked,  
_ _mapped journey of blushing lines._

_Twin pools of emerald,  
_ _beg me to continue my progress._

_Gently, gently my hungry beast,  
_ _I hold your desire and release._

_Breath in sync,  
_ _with each bight, we are in unison._

_Limbs seized, chest held taut,  
_ _as the ladder encases your ivory tower._

_Higher and tighter we both climb,  
_ _until nothing is left but a rope cage._

_Absent in your oblivion,  
_ _taste the salt on your brow._

_Slowing my response,  
_ _rope’s tension holds me in check._

_Curtailed for now,  
_ _possession of your glorious orbs._

_Who is controlling whom?  
_ _The answer is obvious._

_Your sex blooms,  
_ _brought forth from a winter garden._

_Full of nectar, fresh and bright.  
_ _I am undone!_

_Your face full of arousal,  
_ _the peg draws a guttural response._

_Splendid release,  
_ _as you are bound tighter.”_

As the last words hung in the room like vultures, the crowd were on their feet for a long and noisy ovation. Timmy felt a little shell-shocked by the poem. It was very public and exposing, but also quite a turn-on and coming from Armie’s lips, each word felt like an electric spark to his cock. That voice is going to kill him.

“It goes without saying that Nigella Griffin deserves every accolade for this collection of breathtaking works of staggering genius. It is truly an honor to be here to represent her this evening and I feel honored to be able to read her words to you,” the crowd applause made Armie pause again.

“We are all in for such a rare treat being able to read more of her exquisite words and I, for one, would like to raise a glass and toast to Nigella Griffin and to many more books of poems in the future.”

The crowd rumbled along with the toast as they raised their glass.

“Once you have all read this book, you will, like me, be addicted to her writing and in desperate anticipation for more from this extraordinary wordsmith.”

Over the crowd’s cheers Armie stated, “Thank you for coming and goodnight.”

Stepping out of the spotlight, Armie was greeted, embraced, and patted by a dozen different people. Timothée stood back and let him do his thing. After a few moments, he could see Armie scanning the room and when their eyes met, Armie gave him a nod and slowly began to extract himself from the crowd of well-wishers and make his way towards Timothée. After a dozen or so disruptions during his bee-line to Timmy, he finally made it to where he stood.

“Hey Timmy, you made it,” Armie exclaimed.

“I thought it was YOU who was late, and I was going to ‘tear you a new one’ when you got here. There you were demanding that I meet you for a date errr.. I mean… a drink, and then YOU didn’t even have the guts to show,” Timothée gushed up into Armie’s face excitedly.

They both laughed nervously, but Timothée changed the subject to relieve the awkwardness, “So how exactly do you know this author?”

Armie whispered the story into Timothée’s ear, “I was filming in the UK and we met at a bondage club; she was so gorgeous and intriguing that I had to talk to her. I misread the situation and stupidly opened with, ‘I want to fuck you so hard!’ to which she bought me to my knees with a firm twist of my balls and quietly said into my face, ‘Keep a civil tongue in your head.’ We have been firm friends ever since.”

They both laughed at the matter-of-fact way that Armie told his debauched tale and he grabbed a couple of extra glasses of wine from a passing waiter and motioned towards the door. “I need to smoke,” Armie said and headed to the door.

Once outside of the noisy chapel, they went around the corner of the building to be out of the wind. Armie magically produced a packet of cigarettes out of his velvet jacket and extracted one from the packet with his lips. “I don’t usually smoke, but I wouldn’t say no tonight,” Timothée said, as he was feeling a little buzzed after the couple of large glasses of wine on an empty stomach.

As Armie leant in with his cigarette in his teeth, he used his hand shielding the one in Timmy’s. Their eyes met as the flash of the lighter illuminated their faces. Timothée had to steady himself by resting his hands on Armie’s hips. The warm velvet was softer to his touch than he had imagined and he thought about what it would feel like sliding Armie’s pants down his long, strong legs.

He hadn’t noticed Armie continuing to stare at him until Armie asked, “Can I kiss you?”

“You fucking better!”

Timothée’s cigarette fell to the pavement and continued to burn as their two bodies entwined. Crushing their lips in an overly excited way, it was like it was their first kiss, which it kind of really was, even though they had been having their ‘Great Kissing Scene’ on stage twice a day for months now.

Armie’s brute force crushed the other man up against the stone as he took a handful of hair and, with a firm but gentle tug, he exposed his long and slender neck. Peppering his jawline with kisses, he paused at Timothée’s pale collarbone and bit him firmly, at which point Timothée’s legs almost gave way. Armie kicked his legs a little wider apart and thrust his thigh up under his balls to give him support, but all it did was make Timothée even more impossibly hard, whereupon he released a telltale groan of pleasure.

“I would fuck you right here against this church, if I could!” rumbled out of Armie.

Timothée’s arm hung around Armie’s neck and he began to lose sense of space and time, but he was brought back almost instantly with the vibration and incessant ringing erupting from Armie’s trouser pocket.

“I have to take this, hang on just a sec. Don’t go anywhere,” Armie declared into Timothée’s mouth.

The blonde man’s face was illuminated by the FaceTime call, “Hops, have you been a good girl for Mummy today? And are you all ready for bed? I wish I could be there to tuck you in.”

It must have been almost 7:00 PM in LA and Armie had to perform his nightly ritual of putting his two children to bed. His face became all goofy and animated as he spoke in such gentle tones to his children. It was so tender and sweet, but it tore at Timothée to witness the change.

Sliding slowly out of sight into the shadows surrounding the chapel, Timothée watched Armie enact the two greatest roles of his life, ‘the doting father’ and ‘the loving husband’, which he performed effortlessly.

For his own sake, Timothée had to put some distance between what he had been willing to do only a few seconds before and the cold, hard reality that glowed in the dark in front of him. The adrenalin that had been pumping so fast, now froze in his veins and his heart shattered as he ran from this married man towards the busy subway station. In that moment he resolved himself to the fact that he could never truly have Armie.


	5. Struggling with the bind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Armie realized that Timmy was ghosting him and it was tearing him apart, something needed to be done.

**_Armie >_ ** _Timmy, where did you go? Let’s go get a drink somewhere. You pick the place._

When he got no reply to his text after 10 minutes, Armie called Timmy’s cell phone and it went straight through to voice mail.

 ** _Armie >_** Where did you go? I want to fix this, whatever this is, and continue where we left off. Timmy, just call me when you get this, please.

By Sunday matinee Armie realized that Timmy was ghosting him. As they sat having their stage makeup applied Timothée sank down into his chair, pulled up his hoodie and only made eye contact with Eddie, the makeup artist. And though Timmy usually chattered nervously during the makeup process, he didn’t utter a sound, not even when Armie directed a question at him.

On stage their interaction was even worse. Timmy, very uncharacteristically, kept missing his mark. Armie, having to second-guess his co-star’s every move, was exhausted and unable to express any emotion by the time the ‘Big Kiss’ scene arrived. Their highly-anticipated kiss deteriorated into a half-assed peck, eliciting an audible groan from the audience and tearing Armie apart inside.

Armie needed to know what he had done to cause Timmy to go frosty. He analyzed their interaction, but couldn’t seem to wrap his head around what could have caused this swift about-face.

During curtain call he grabbed Timmy’s arm and whispered to him that they needed to talk, but before Armie was off the stage, Timothée had grabbed his bag and disappeared into the night.

***

Armie started to strategize how he could fix this thing with Timmy. He scanned Timmy’s Instagram account for clues to his likes and interests. He found several references to ‘Tompkins Square Bagels’ in the East Village. He mapped how to get there and back to the theatre in time for the next matinee. He would be sitting in the green room, armed with fresh baked goods. Who can resist fresh baked goods?

Timothée actually rolled his eyes at the massive bag of bagels sitting in front of Armie when he skulked into the room. With forced enthusiasm Armie babbled at his co-star, “What would you like on your bagel? These smell so delicious. I didn’t know which ones you preferred, so I got a selection.” Rather than respond, Timmy turned on his heel and exited in a blur. Armie heard the outer door slam by the time he reached the green room’s door.

Armie, who had totally lost his appetite by this point, offered the bagels to the crew, who happily devoured the entire bag.

***

Armie was a sorry sight as he lay alone on the stage hours after another atrocious performance. He was at a loss for what to do. He didn’t want to go home or go out, so he stayed where he felt safe, with his knees pulled up to his chest on the tiny sofa that was set for tomorrow’s show.

His heart beat fast at the thought that he had harmed Timmy in some way. He was overwhelmed by the realization that he had feelings for Timmy that went way beyond the intended ‘bit of fun while in New York’, and the loss was hitting him hard.

His Timmy was smart and funny and totally filthy in a way that made his cock hard at the thought of the things he wanted to do to that boy’s body. But whenever Armie saw him now he felt like a bucket of water had been poured into his lap. He just couldn’t get past the fact Timmy wouldn’t look at him, let alone talk to him.

Armie was so caught up in his own thoughts that he didn’t hear the light footsteps as they crossed the stage. Tommy Stephan, their playwright and director was standing over him and Armie wished he could dissolve into the sofa’s plush fabric.

Taking in Tommy’s frown and concerned face, Armie thought it was best if he began by apologizing and work backwards from there. “I am so sorry about the way the play has been going the last couple of days. We seem to have lost the spark that we had.” Having gotten it off his chest, he felt only slightly relieved.

Tommy squinted at Armie, who remained coiled up on the sofa, and gave him a withering look. “Forget about the play for five minutes. There is something more pressing that I need to ask you and I really need you to give me an honest answer. What have you done to Timothée?!?”

“If only I knew!” Armie declared defeatedly, “We met up at a book launch and everything was great, but then he suddenly took off and now he’s ghosting me. He won’t even look me in the eye.”

Tommy exhaled heavily, expressing his growing impatience, and crossed his arms, adopting the stance of a chastising mother. “Armand Douglas, do I need to hit you over that pretty head of yours? Wake up and smell the coffee, Mr. Hammer! Don’t you know that boy is in love with you?”

“Wait…what? Wh-why would you say that?” Armie asked.

Tommy replied, “For an astute character actor, you are sometimes rather blind to your environment. It is my job to guage the interaction between my cast members and I would say that he fell for you at precisely the moment you walked through the door at our first rehearsal.”

Tommy’s words were too much for him in his overwrought state and the floodgates opened. Armie began to sob loudly and, though he knew how unattractive he was when he cried, there was nothing that he could do about it. He only hoped that Tommy would ride out his tears and not think the worst of him for his outburst.

The sight of this giant of a man falling apart was almost too much for Tommy to bear; he wanted to do something to soothe him, but his instinct told him that he should just give Armie the space to have his catharsis. He stood quietly as Armie’s tears gradually subsided and, when he felt that the storm had retreated, he patted him on the shoulder.

“You two have gotten yourselves into a real fix; you’re both miserable and the play is suffering. You need to talk and you can’t put it off. But I have one caveat, my friend. You have to be completely honest with Timmy about your feelings for him. Don’t be afraid to be vulnerable. I know it’s scary as hell for you, but it’s the only way you’re going to make this situation better. I promise that you won’t regret it.”

Armie, completely worn out after his deluge, looked up at him through red, puffy eyes. “Okay. But how can I get him to meet me if he won’t even talk to me?”

Tommy whipped his cellphone out of his pocket and punched a speed dial button.

“Hey there, Timmy.” He was silent for a minute before he continued, “Good. I’m doing fine. Listen, I’m glad that I caught you. Could you come in at 9:00 tomorrow morning? I’ve made some revisions to the script. It’s nothing major, but I’d like to rehearse the changes before tomorrow’s performance. You can? Great. I’ll see you on stage at 9 sharp, Thanks, T!” Tommy ended the call and winked at Armie before walking downstage, leaving the ball in Armie’s court. When he was halfway up the aisle he looked back over his shoulder. “Remember to be here at 9 AM. Sharp!”

***

Armie hadn’t slept well; his mind couldn’t stop going over and over what he would like to say to Timmy. By the time the alarm sounded, he was sure that he could fix this or at least make it clear to Timmy how he felt.

Armie arrived at the theater a comfortable ten minutes early, after making a quick stop at the hole-in-the-wall coffee shop that had become the go-to for the entire cast and crew. He asked for takeaways of ‘Timmy’s usual’ before ordering a cappuccino for himself.

Perched on the edge of the sofa, Armie absentmindedly fumbled with a length of rope that he had found in the wings, in an attempt to calm himself, and periodically sipped his coffee. He could smell the sickly-sweet concoction that was Timmy’s preferred beverage. Even from the distance of the coffee table, he could almost taste how tooth-achingly sweet it was. He wondered if he would taste this ‘so-called’ coffee on his co-star’s lips anytime soon.

Slipping out of his flip-flops, he rested his feet on the coffee table and, in an attempt to slow his breathing and calm his mind, he continued to manipulate the rope. Closing his eyes, Armie tried to visualize what he wanted to tie with the rope. Timothée’s lithe body danced sensually before him, his full, pink lips and sparkling eyes taunting him.

He opened his eyes as a disheveled Timothée burst onto the stage with a look of pure panic on his face.

Nervously Timothée scanned the stage and sighed with relief that Tommy hadn’t already arrived. “Thank god I’m not too late.”

Armie reassured him, “Just you and me here for now.”

He offered him the paper cup and without a second thought Timothée greedily snatched it up. It wasn’t until he had drunk several sips that he regretted accepting it.

Armie began, “Timmy, we need to talk about what happened the other night.”

Babbling nervously, Timothée tried ignoring what the other man had said, “Gee, I wonder where Tommy is? He was very definite about being here at nine…”

“Don’t change the subject. Can you talk to me please?” Armie beseeched him.

Like a petulant child, Timothée retorted, “I don’t think that there is anything that I want to talk to you about.”

“Is that so? Well, we were talking and doing so much more the other night. What’s changed?” Armie asked bluntly.

“And I honestly regret doing any of that.”

Armie’s heart sank to his feet.

Timothée continued, “I don’t need some married man getting up in my face while he is still playing happy family with his wife at home.”

The comment caught Armie off guard and it took a few seconds for him to realize that Timmy was unaware of the separation.

Armie was beginning to worry that Timothée might storm off again when he had an idea. Looping the rope, he walked over to Timmy and stopped directly in front of him. Timmy briefly looked up at the figure towering over him, but quickly averted his gaze.

In the hope of lightening Timmy’s mood, Armie playfully said to him, “Can I show you a trick? Put your hands through the loops.”

When Timothée begrudgingly complied with the request, Armie tugged on the rope, causing it to tighten around his wrists. Timmy attempted to free his hands, but, try as he might, he couldn’t loosen the rope.

Armie, sounding like a magician’s assistant, explained, “The magic handcuff knot! The more you struggle, the tighter it gets. It’s fast to tie and impossible to release, unless you know how. Now, what’s your safe-word?”

Timothée, while continuing to struggle, replied, “My what?”

“Don’t play innocent with me. What is your safe-word? Say it and I’ll release you.”

Timothée shyly looked up at the golden face, blushing at the direction their conversation had taken, and mumbled coyly, “Twilight.”

An enormous grin crossed across Armie’s face, “Twilight… as in Stephanie Meyer and sparkling vampires?”

“No…” Timmy indignantly replied, “as in the time between night and day when worlds cross and magic happens.”

They both chuckled, but they suddenly turned serious again as Timothée looked down at his hands. “You have my attention,” raising his hands a little.

“When was the last time you Googled me?”

“What… I don’t know. Maybe just after we had both signed for the play. Eight months? But what does that have to do with you being a cheating asshole who would drag me down with you if the word ever got out that we had fooled around?”

“Wait…what? When?”

“Does cumming on a grimy gas station wall with my fingers up your ass ring any bells? You may not have recognized me, since you were more focused on my cock than on who was in the helmet!” Timothée spat at Armie.

Armie released a silent ‘Oh’ as he pieced together their interaction from weeks ago, “So that was you… Wow!”

There was no way Armie was going to let this thing between them slip away, especially now that he knew how hot things could get with Timmy. He fumbled in his pockets for his cell phone, opened the device and Googled his name. A TMZ item was the first one that came up.  
He showed Timothée the screen. The banner on top reads, “ **When you Hammer a marriage!** ”

Armie began reading the short article, _'Armie Hammer and his wife Elizabeth Chambers are calling it quits after 10 years of marriage._

_The couple announced the news on Friday, sharing the same statement on their respective Instagram accounts, along with an old photo of them smiling in a car.’_

“I am sorry. I thought everyone knew. We separated months ago, so I didn’t even think to mention it. You must have a pretty low opinion of me.”

“I like you Armie. You are fun. I just don’t want to get involved with a married man right now.”

“Legally separated and I’ll be divorced in 4 months’ time,” Armie added, still trying to change Timothée’s mind.

“Twilight! Bloody Twilight.” Timothée hissed at him, the emotion bubbling up behind his eyes and making them glassy.

Armie showed him the little loop that hung between his hands and told him to tug it. The rope released and uncoiled. Timothée dropped the rope and strode off the stage. Over his shoulder he barked, “Don’t follow me. I need time to think.”

Armie watched him go and sighed at another missed opportunity. He stood and confided defeatedly to the empty seats before him, “You didn’t give me a chance to tell you that I have fallen for you, Timmy.”


	6. Working out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Running on the treadmill, a kicking track began blasting through his headphones and the rhythmic thud of Timothée’s feet kept pace with the beat. Unexpectedly, Armie’s shadow hit his skin and Timmy’s body involuntarily begun to buzz with an excited hum.

The rhythmic thud of Timothée’s feet on the treadmill was the most soothing sound he had heard in days. His repetitive movements made his baggy running shorts fabric swish in the most satisfying way.

The play was in its final week of shows and both he and Armie had smashed their roles. They were being recognized for their effort with offers rolling in for future parts in extraordinary projects. Unsurprisingly there was even ‘Tony award’ buzz as Brian (Timmy’s manager) kept telling him every time he heard any sort of gossip from one of his sources. Brian was being kept extremely busy, with meetings, which then would entail an almost daily phone call where Timothée heard all about what had been discussed.

In all this excited chaos, Timothée’s Tuesday gym sessions were like an oasis of peace and tranquility. The small uptown gym usually was very quiet, but being only midmorning, he almost had the place to himself. There were no fans, paparazzi or Armie, so he wasn’t continually looking over his shoulder or checking to see about how damp, shaggy or dodgy he looked. Here he was, just another guy in the gym, almost faceless. He was just Lil’ Timmy-T pounding out the miles.

A kicking track began blasting through his headphones and he upped his pace. It was a couple of minutes into the song before he sensed him. He could pick his smell feet away from the man, his unique combination that was quintessentially Armie; expensive cologne, cigarettes and that undefinable base note smell that was somewhere between burger buns and an exotic flower essence. Every night on stage, Armie’s aroma would engulf Timmy as he was enfolded in his broad arms for their big stage kiss and he would be lost in the magnificence of his fragrance.

Out of the corner of his eye, Timothée saw the larger man move and as Armie’s shadow hit his skin, involuntarily Timothée’s body begun to buzz with an excited hum. He slowed the machine to a complete stop. He was determined to face the blonde man without making a complete fool of himself or accidently doing himself some kind of injury. Turning to face him, Timothée tried to make it look as cool and casual as possible, but he wasn’t sure if Armie was buying his nonchalant facade.

His eyes locked on Armie, who was standing just behind him, his arms folded and a ‘heart meltingly sweet’ grin. The tall man was patiently waiting for Timmy to take his headphones off.

Timothée was uncertain how he would respond this time if Armie began again with the same conversation they had last time they spoke. The anticipation of their interaction bounced around in his belly in the most disconcerting way. _Ask it already Armie, I haven’t got all day_ , Timothée thought impatiently.

“So, Timmy… do you think you could spot me?” Armie asked in an adorable expectant kind of way.

“Seriously! I don’t know how much use I will be,” he replied.

“You just need to stand close and help me get the bar back on the rack at the end of each rep. You’ve got this”, Armie enthused.

The taller man lay back on the bench and placed his strong hands around the bar. Awkwardly Timothée stood relatively closely to the rack but made sure not to be too close. After the first couple of reps, he understood what was required of him and he shifted his location to take more of the weight. He was now so close that his legs were practically bracketing the other man’s head.

He wasn’t sure what Armie was getting out of the lifts until he caught Armie’s eyes drifting up the inside of his legs each time Timothée moved.

“Hey, you big old creep! Are you looking up my shorts?” Timothée asked accusatorially.

Armie’s color intensified from a warm flushed pink to a deep red as his blush move down his neck and glowed across his chest. He had been caught out.

Armie finally admitted, “Errr, one can’t help but watch that thing swinging in there.”

“You only asked me do this to get a peek of my junk. You are unbelievable!” Timothée declared.

“I am only human Timmy,” Armie admitted with an apologetic expression which he reinforced by placing his hand on Timothée’s leg.

Swiping the large slab of hand away, Timothée went back to his machine and cranked up the music in his headphones and attempted to finish his workout. Hopefully, he could run off his annoyance at how brazen Armie was being.

He stretched out his gait and slipped into a sustainable running pace. His muscles began to burn and breathing became heavier. In spite of himself, he realized that he was actually showing off a little to the brutishly handsome man that he knew was watching his every movement.

After 20 minutes he hit his goal distance and shut off the treadmill. Taking up his towel and wiping away a layer of perspiration he attempted to completely ignore Armie. Nonchalantly, he looked over to find Armie sprinting hard on a spin bike.

His face was red and dripping with sweat, his eyes totally fixed on Timothée. His looked determined and entirely focused. Taking Timothée’s lead Armie began to slow his bike as he scrutinized Timothée collecting his stuff and walked towards the locker room.

***

Taking his towel and a change of clothes, he locked his personal effects into his locker and took the closest shower cubicle. Swiftly locking the door, he undressed rapidly and set the shower flow to get a hot and strong blast of water.

Letting the water massage his shoulders and neck was a welcome release after his exertion. The water felt rejuvenating as it cascaded down his body. Taking a handful of soap from the wall mounted dispenser, his began to work his way down his body to remove all residue sweat from his workout.

Timothée heard the door-lock in the cubicle next to his click and that shower begin a few moments later. Armie interrupted him, “Timmy, is that you? Do you have any shampoo in there? My dispenser is completely empty.”

“I can’t just throw it at you over the wall,” he replied a little annoyed and hoped that would be the end of it.

The water next door was shut off and a few seconds later he heard Armie again. “Timmy, let me in. I need some shampoo,” Armie hollered rapping on Timothée’s door.

He ignored him. He was just too much sometimes. All Timothée wanted was a little peace and there was no way Armie was going to let him have it. “Come on dude, don’t leave a guy out here hanging,” Armie beseeched him.

Knocking again Armie sounded more desperate, “Please Timmy, I am out here naked man, just let me in.”

For the sake of peace, he unlocked the door and quickly returned to the protection of the cascading water. Awkwardly he faced the wall, hoping Armie would take some shampoo and be on his way again.

Once inside Armie made a quick fluid motion to lock the door and begun a detailed tirade about just how very unprofessional it is to have showers in a gymnasium and not to offer the necessary amenities.

Timothée felt the larger man’s bulk move in behind him, but he kept his eyes on the tiled wall. He reached over him, Armie’s long brown arm came into view as he pressed the button on the dispenser. As he stepped into the stream of water and Timmy felt what could only be his meaty member brush across the top of his buttocks.

The touch was like electric jolt, as the excitement ran through him. Armie bodily shifted Timothée slightly out of the mainstream of water and with that Timothée soon realized that Armie had decided to join him in his shower and not just briefly interrupt his privacy.

When he was struck a second time by Armie’s increasingly turgid cock, he had no choice but face him and tell him to back off.

The sight of the man fully naked in all his glory was breathtaking and Timothée’s breath halted in his chest, as he took him all in. The water cascading down his hard-tight body and his ample body hair worked as beacons pointing the way to the main event below. His eyes came to rest on his massive prick, fully hard now, its erect angle forced Timmy to make eye contact with the bulbous head. His jaw went slack, and his mouth fell open, his protests were now moot.

The words of rebuttal evaporated in his mouth as he fell dumb in the glow of such golden awe-inspiring beauty. The death blow to the last thread of his dignity, came when Timothée own member deciding to raise like offering a flag of surrender.

Armie did not wait, he took Timothée’s cock in one hand, stroking it fast and hard and with the other hand he forcefully lifted Timmy’s chin to have full access to his pale slender neck. Kissing his way upwards all the way up to Timothée’s soft pink lips, he licked between them as if asking for permission to enter.

The deep wet kiss that followed was explosive, their shyness now gone. They slammed into each other’s bodies forcing the other up against the walls of the partitions. Neither were being quiet about what was occurring in their only slightly private cubicle. Fortunately, it was a Tuesday and there were very few people around to walk in and hear the inevitable outcome of this kiss.

***

Sliding his knee up between Armies thighs and once connected to his groin, Timothée began gently caressed the underside of his balls. Armie responded by gliding himself along the length of Timmy’s leg, his balls were that sensitive he groaned with every movement.

Breaking away from Timmy mouth, Armie turned him towards the tiled wall and began driving his hard-fat cock between his cheeks. The tiles were cold but Armie’s body radiated so much heat, that he could only feel the hot throbbing rod trying to drive itself into him. The blunt head hit his tenderest point, but it was reluctant to yield and Timothée let out a cry of pain. Armie stopped his physical advance and looked into Timothée’s face to ensure he was not injured.

“Nope... this in not happening without a fuck load of lube,” Timothée stated flatly.

Armie looked crushed at the rejection and Timothée grabbing Armie’s broad face in both his hands holding his gaze and declared, “If you really want to fuck here and now,” Armie nodded, “then obviously, I am fucking you!”

A look of delight passed over the bigger man face, he excitedly turned himself to face the hard-tiled wall and braced himself for the inevitable penetration. His firm round ass made the water pool in his lower back before spilling joyously down his seam. His wet and shaggy blonde hair, now turned dark, incessantly dripped water onto the floor where it rushed away towards the drain. This was an unforgettable sight and Timothée’s cock throbbed with the excitement for it.

Timothée turned to punch the soap dispensed a couple of times, with a hand full, he forced as much of it as he can into Armie’s crack to lubricate his hole. Testing his opening, he inserted a single finger and Armie let out a small grunt, as he tried to relax his tight ringed muscle. By the second digit, Armie released a low groan, as his fingers slid in and out quite easily. He inserts a third which delivered a deep growl from Armie’s chest and he knew he was ready for him. _The filthy fucker is loving a finger fuck!_

With two more pumps from the dispenser, Timothée smothered his cock, but took his time to enter Armie. It was his first time for quite a while, and he knew that as with everything he and Armie had done before, this fuck would be mind-blowing.

Relishing the other man’s body, Timothée slid his hand downward, feeling the contours of Armie’s muscular frame. When he reaches his hips, he lost himself in the delight as he cupped the damp mounds of his buttocks. He gave the filthy boy one hard slap and he felt Armie buck in anticipation of what is to come. Biting hard on his collar bone, Timmy breached him quickly and stopped once inside. He slowly drew himself out to open him up further and then stopped again once he was back just inside his hole.

Timothée wanted Armie to take control of the fuck and since he didn’t want to hurt him or cause him pain, he stood still and Armie took the hint. Armie slid himself backward deeper onto Timmy’s prick, before he took several furtive plunges further down it, before withdrawing, each time taking more of him until finally Armie felt relaxed enough and quickly took all of Timmy to his hilt. The sudden sensation was almost overwhelming and Timothée wondered why he hadn’t been up here inside this man all his life.

Armie half turned and their mouths met hungry and messily. As they both begin to rut hard into each other. They exuberantly fucked each other, instead of the usual slow shallow thrusts Timothée had been used to. Each time Timmy slid into him Armie’s breath was driven out in a huffing sound. They were like one organism with only once desperate aim and that was to wring as much pleasure out of their bodies as they could.

To anyone listening outside the cubicle, it would have sounded like a steam train chugging up a hill with all their puffing, except each thrust made noisy reverberation through walls and rattled the cubicles door in its hinges.

Armie was so tight around his prick that Timothée knew it wouldn’t be long before he would lose himself in the sensation. Each time Timothée drew back, Armie drove himself back on again and made a joyous and resounding wet slapping noise.

Both had forgotten the water washing over them as they reveled in their physical closeness. Timmy was locked onto Armie’s shoulders when he felt through the root of the other man’s cock as he begun to spasm and suddenly erupted with great force. Timothée hadn’t noticed he had begun to hold his breath, as he was relishing in all the extra sensations of the other man’s orgasm clamping around his length. All too soon the rhythmic tensing caused him to topple over and release his pent-up juices into his lover.

Timmy’s legs buckled and he was suddenly unable to hold his own weight. He would have fallen, if Armie hadn’t quickly drawn him up into his broad chest, where he cradled him gently. They panted into each other’s mouths trying to catch their breath, before kissing passionately to help them slowly adjust to not being so physically conjoined.

The sound of the blood rushing in his ears began to fade as Armie took delight in washing Timothée’s hair and massage the soapy lather through his locks. He broad blunt fingers worked the soap into his scalp while he diligently tried to keep it also out of his eyes. Timothée turned around to allow him access to more of his head and he was almost purring with is attention. Head down, Timothée watched the last of his spunk dribble out of his cock and spiral down the drain.

***

Both were thankful for continuous hot water as they playfully began exploring each other’s bodies again. They took their time to manipulate and caress each other’s most sensitive regions. _How long had they been there? How wrinkly could his fingers get? Did they have time for another session?_

With a trill buzzing Timmy’s cell phone began to erupt, seeking his attention. He pulled away and used his towel to dry off his hands, before wrapping the towel around his hair to stop it dripping everywhere. He fossicked in his trouser pockets and produced the vibrating device, displaying a photo of his agent, Brian. He wasn’t one who would take too lightly to being ignored and he knew he should answer it immediately.

Moving the towel down to around his waist, he ignored Armies protests and exited the cubicle. Pacing anxiously through the tiled hallway, he accepted Brian’s call. Brian didn’t even wait for any form of greeting before he began to talk rapidly, “Timmy, great news. Luca Guadagnino has a bit of a passion project that he is working on and would like you to play the main protagonist. Peter is of course set to produce the thing, so we both think it is a really great opportunity for you,” Brian gushed, leaving only a second for Timothée to respond.

Timothée replied, “Wow that’s really great. When would he like me to audition?”

“No audition is needed. Peter flew him in, and we had a weekend catching up with dinner and coincidentally a show,” Brian paused for effect, “Your show. He loved it by the way and both you and Armie.”  
Brian continued, “How do you feel about two months filming in Northern Italy?”

“So, who else is slated to be in it?” Timothée asked instinctively, while trying to get his head around this great opportunity that was being offered.

“Some really great actors; Michael Stuhlbarg, Amira Casar and if you agree to do it, you will be co-staring with Armie Hammer, again. Armie has only agreed with the proviso that you will do it. So, what do you say?”

“That fucker…” Timmy replied and absent mindedly hung up on Brian, who began calling again just a few seconds later.

Armie responded… “What’s going on?”

“Does you agreeing to co-star in a Luca ‘Fucking’ Guadagnino movie only if I am too, mean anything to you?” Timothée says incensed.

“It could be fun. Summer filming in Italy and Luca is a great director,” Armie replied excitedly.

As Timothée walked towards their cubicle to confront Armie, he ignored his phone buzzing in his hand. Something caught his eye as he glanced into the cubical that Armie had earlier occupied beside his. The door lay open just wide enough for him to see the soap dispensers on the wall. Both were full of the fluorescent colored liquids. His mind seared red with fury.

“Oh my god Armie, you are a compulsive fucking liar. Why would I work with you again? You just want a fuck buddy with you on set, you fucking asshole,’ Timothée let out a small sob of frustration.

Dashing from the confined safety of the cubicle, a stark naked Armie folded Timothée into his arms. He couldn’t care less what anyone would think or if they witnessed this. Timmy struggled to break free but Armie was not going to release him until they had sorted this out once and for all.

He tried to soothe him with a shushing sound which made him wriggle and squirm even more and so he instead began to explain himself.

“This is a really great opportunity and I couldn’t imagine doing it without you. It’s such an intimate and exposed story that I need someone like you that I can truly trust. We will be figuratively and literally naked and exposed and only you can make this truly remarkable experience manageable.”

Armie drew breath and gauged Timothée’s reaction to his words. He was silent and so he continued, “In the past few months, I have fallen for you Timothée, I want to prove to that we can make this, whatever this thing is, work. And even if it takes me kissing you every day on film for you to begin to love me as much as I love you, so be it. I am willing to do what it takes Timmy. Tell me what it will take,” Armie gushed into Timothée’s face and forced a nervous grin across his face.

This final statement stopped Timothée’s struggles as he looked up into the larger man’s face to try and decipher the truth in it. All he could see was his wet disheveled face and an expression of sincerity and pleading. He was begging for him to accept his invitation and say he would give them a chance, to see where their passion would take them.

Breaking free at last from his embrace, Timothée turned away and finally answered Brian’s incessant buzzing. “Fine, I will do it,” he stated confidently down the line, before hanging up again. He knew he would pay for this later but didn’t care at this moment.

Turning quickly on his heels towards a stunned looking naked man, “It will take from you: no more lies, no more bullshit or any of your usual manipulations. If you can’t do this, then I am out the door. Got it?” he stated with a determined tone. The other man emphatically nodded and he launched himself exuberantly at the 6’5” behemoth.

They kissed hard and then heard the door on the other side of the changeroom squeaked open and Armie dragged Timothée back into the relative safety of their cubicle. Without breaking from the kiss Timothée locked the door and slapped Armie’s ass as hard as he could. Armie straightened at the sting and let out a gasp of shock.

Timothée crushed their mouths together again as the bold clear pink hand mark developed on his co-star’s rump. The symbolism of the gesture was not lost on either of them. Timothée wished he could show the world his mark of ownership on his man, but that would have to wait until they were on another continent, during an unforgettable Italian summer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that is this end of this little romp.  
> Thank you for all those who have encouraged me with it and those ho have assisted with editing my illiterate drivel.  
> I am quite happy with how different this thing is to my usual stories, tell me your thoughts on it.


End file.
